The Thing With Feathers
by CailinNollaig
Summary: Now, it seems like it's all slipping away from her. Hermione tries – god, does she try – but it's slipping from her fingers, the image of her family already becoming frayed. It's all her fault. Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ronald Weasley have been trying to have a baby for two years now. Two years.
1. Chapter 1

**The Thing With Feathers**

 _When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside.  
I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side._

 _"All I Want" - Kodaline._

* * *

She's never failed at anything before. Not at anything important, anyway. Hermione has always deemed her failure with flying, Quidditch and sports to be generally inconsequential. This, however… This is different.

This isn't inconsequential, it's pretty bloody important.

Since the war ended, they've all discussed when they would have families. They imagined the family barbeques, the amusing hijinks and if they could create a new era of Marauders. Although, honestly, Hermione had never been all that encouraging about that last one.

Now, it seems like it's all slipping away from her. Hermione tries – god, does she try – but it's slipping from her fingers, the image of her family already becoming frayed. It's all her fault. That is, genuinely, the worst part in all this. She can't secretly blame Ron, she can't sigh about bureaucracy or rules, because it's just her fault. Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ronald Weasley have been trying to have a baby for _two years_ now. Two years.

Hermione sits in the empty room now, feeling like she's sitting in a tomb. Yellow, mocking walls smile down on her. Shapes of various magical animals leap and bound across the wallpaper, all silently managing to make fun of her failure. She closes her eyes firmly, inhaling shakily. She breathes out, ignoring how uneven the sound is, and tries not to let herself break down.

Opening her eyes again, she glances down at the toy in her lap. A soft, smiling brown bear sits in her hands. The comfort the toy brings is almost wrong. She should be tearing it to pieces, but all Hermione wants to do is hold it tighter. She does this by clutching it to her chest, hoping it will somehow steady the rapid beating of her heart, the wrenching despair bubbling in her chest. _Exhale again, Granger, exhale._

Everyone thinks Hermione Granger (she kept her name after she married, despite everyone's expectations. People still insist on calling her Hermione Weasley, and she hates it.) is the career-driven, ambitious, anti-maternal figure who hasn't got a desire for children. The truth is so _wrong_ that even she tries to deny it.

Hermione Granger has always wanted children. Her hard-ass, stubborn, ambitious nature is part of her personality, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want her family. She wants to have a kick-ass career, but she still wants to have a little mini-Ron and Hermione running around. Why do people seem incapable of recognising those two things aren't mutually exclusive?

It isn't career _or_ family. She wants both. And godammit, she is Hermione Granger, if she wants both, she'll get it.

It's a huge blow when the one thing – _the one person –_ she thought wouldn't block her path, does. Herself.

At this thought, a tear runs down her face, and Hermione curses it. She can't let the floodgates open.

"Hermione?" Oh, she would recognise that voice anymore. Even the sound of his warm timbre makes her want to cry, so she ignores him. She hopes he'll take it as a sign to go away. As Hermione feels him come sit beside her, she remembers that he would have never left. That's Harry; reliable, dependable, caring Harry.

He wraps an arm around her wordlessly, and she leans her head on his shoulder. They remain like this for quite some time, her eyes firmly on the little teddy. After a few more minutes, Hermione finds the courage to look around the room.

They had spent hours decorating the spare room. The excitement had taken hold too quickly – she had, for one of the rare moments in her life, let emotion and anticipation take over. She had that little voice in her head, that cautious warning, _"Be careful, Hermione, you know what happened last time," -_ but as if she would listen.

She, Ron, Ginny and Harry had spent all weekend doing their spare room up. A pale gender-neutral yellow was splashed on the walls, Ginny had enthusiastically stuck stickers of hippogriffs and dragons along the edges and Hermione had put away any toys/clothes they had. Hermione and Ginny then spent the next few hours talking about baby names while Ron and Harry built the crib, grumbling the entire time.

 _Too soon,_ she thinks, the voice quiet even in her own head. Sadness grips at her again then, and this time, the tears come unbidden. Even though she wills them not to, her shoulders shake, her lip trembles and she's suddenly sobbing in her best friends arms.

"It's okay," He whispers softly, stroking her hair, "It'll happen. I know it'll happen."

Hermione sucks in air, trying to speak while bawling her eyes out, "You—you don't – don't know that," the ending becomes a wail, her voice failing her again. She's so tired of this.

She's exhausted, truth be told.

He holds her tighter, "I do know that. I believe good things come to good people, and you and Ron… Well, you're the best of people." Harry says quite simply. She knows he believes the words, and she's knows to some extent they're true, but logically – and she's got to be logical – he doesn't know anything about her reproductive system.

The miscarriages are her fault. It's her body that is rejecting the idea of pregnancy, it seems. Ron's swimmers find their way there no problem. _She's the problem._

"You know…" She can tell he's hesitating about his next words. From that alone, Hermione knows he's about to mention Ron. "You know he's just as upset as you… He'll be home any time now, I'm sure. He—he's not going to do something drastic."

"Like divorce me?" The words leave her mouth before she can stop them. She hadn't even wanted to acknowledge or think about that fear on her own, never mind out loud with Harry. Speaking it out loud makes the reality of it all the more real, all the more genuine, and she sniffs loudly.

He exhales sharply, "No, Hermione, of course not. Don't be like that."

She knows he's right. She's being silly, of course she's being silly – they don't know that she won't eventually get pregnant and carry to term. When they do know that, when some doctor finally tells her it's hopeless, there will be a Ron shaped hole in the wall.

He wants a family. Hermione knows he's always wanted a family; he grew up with six siblings, it's home to him.

She doesn't respond to Harry.

The blood this morning was just another episode in the ongoing nightmare that is her life. She didn't even wake Ron for some twenty minutes. She simply sat there, staring ahead, wondering when it was going to get easier. She knew the drill, the procedure – _"oh, I'm so sorry, Ms, you miscarried."_

Worst of all, she's not just a failure, she's a failure as a _woman._ Hermione can't even manage this one, basic reproductive mechanism that all humans are meant to be able to do. It's their purpose on the earth; _to reproduce._

It's some cruel twist of irony that she's struggled and strived all her life to be a success, and the one thing she figured a guarantee, makes her feel like the biggest failure in the world.

"You're not a failure, you know." He says, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. Hermione doesn't bother reacting. "And I'm sorry." She hates when people say that. What does it even mean? He didn't push her down the stairs, there's no reason for him to be sorry.

She untangles herself from him and stands, unable to bear one more minute in the room. "I think you should go now."

Harry looks like he's about to protest, hand outstretched to halt her in her steps. Hermione turns, forces a very weak smile, and whispers sincerely, "Thank you, Harry."

He's still her best friend after all these years; still the messy-haired boy saving her from a troll. He doesn't look much different either, save for a few more inches and his face being a little more refined. It's strange to think of _him_ as a father, but it's true. _Her_ Harry, the moody, sometimes irrational, strong, caring Harry is a Dad. Someone calls him Dad.

James calls him Dad. It's a wonderful and strange thing; he calls Hermione "Aunt". She wonders how she earned that title.

Hermione's drawn back to the present when Harry touches her arm, his eyes soft and sympathetic. He kisses her gently on the cheek, and leaves.

The front door shuts. Hermione Granger bursts into tears.

* * *

A/N: Hi, guys.

So, this is my newst foray into HPFF. It's my first foray into HGRW, so please let me know what you think. I've completed the fic already, it's about 12, 000 words so I'll be splitting that across a few chapters. Rest assured I've finished it though so there won't be too long between updates. Disclaimer: Down own HP or "All I Want" by Kodaline.

Thank you for reading,  
CN.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Thing With Feathers**

 _Excuse me for a while, while I'm wide-eyed_  
 _And I'm so down, caught in the middle._

 _"Strong" - London Grammar._

* * *

Time has been dragging. Dragging in the kind of way Hermione has to drag James when they're leaving the toystore. Dragging in the kind of way a Friday afternoon does.

Ron didn't come home last night. She assumes he stayed at Harry and Ginny's, but the thought doesn't comfort her. In all truth, Hermione's anguish has long since turned to anger. Part of her feels sorry for Ron, with the way she's going to castrate him when he comes home. Second thoughts, she needs those parts, maybe a good 'ole spider in the bed will do the trick.

Psychological torture is, after all, the most effective.

She's been in work since half six this morning. The night was spent tossing and turning, sniffling and crying, pacing and sitting completely, perfectly still. How could Ron leave her to do this _alone?_ That's always his answer – run. When things get difficult, when times are emotional, Ron Weasley makes a run for the hills.

She once said he had the emotional range of a tea spoon, and she was quite right at the time, even if she was sixteen. Hermione's sixteen year old self was spot on.

When there's even a tablespoon of emotion involved, he bolts. Communication and emotive expression isn't exactly is forte – unless you're looking for someone to crack a joke, then her dear husband is the life and soul.

Feeling guilty at her internal thoughts, Hermione puts down her quill. She's studying recent cases of animal abuse, and more to point, elvish abuse. She doesn't really need all this on top of the harrowing stories she reads daily.

Automatically, Hermione places her hand on her stomach. The flatness of it makes her insides churn. Many women would love a flat stomach, but for Hermione, it's just a sore reminder. _You've no life growing inside you, there's no miracle at work here._

Seeing as it's six o'clock, Hermione begins to gather her things up. She's moving especially slowly today. Her movements are sluggish, so unlike the brisk quality that usually accompanies her movements. Hermione is just about ready when someone steps into her office.

Isn't it strange how you come to recognise a person's footsteps; that the sound of someone's footfalls can become a method of recognising them?

"Ron, what are you doing here." Her tone is flat.

She can hear him shuffle a bit behind her and closing her door. Hermione has her back to him as she puts her coat on. She is quite ready to hear him grovel though.

Turning, Hermione instantly feels a little guilty. His skin is a sickly pale, the red hair stark and alarming against it. Yesterday mornings clothes still sit on his body, and he appears almost uncomfortable in them. He obviously didn't bother showing up to work today.

His eyes are bloodshot, too, and Hermione wonders how just one night can have that much havoc on a persons appearance. He's still an asshole though.

"We have to talk," He says quietly, and this takes Hermione back. Usually, he would repeatedly apologise, even throwing himself on the ground in front of her if he's feeling extremely dramatic.

A delightful mixture of fear and bile rise in her throat. Hermione swallows thickly, "Um, yes… I guess we do." _Points to Hermione for eloquence. Well done, Hermione._

They take seats on the couch in the far corner of her office. The workspace she currently occupies is probably larger than needs be, but she hardly has cause for complain. It is, of course, smaller than Harry's, but it comfortably fits a desk, two chairs as well as a coffee table and sofa.

The black, gleaming leather feels uncomfortable now. The sound it makes as she gets settled resonates around them, highlighting the tension and the silence between the couple.

"I—I… I just can't do this, Hermione."

Something drops in her – in her – in her _something._ Is it her stomach? Her chest? She's not sure, but suddenly, Hermione thinks she's going to hurl. "Excuse me?"

Ron scratches the back of his head, appearing uneasy. _Good. "_ This is hell. Don't lie, Hermione, I know it's hell for you, too. Why are we putting ourselves through this? We're young, it's not as if we have to do this now."

She's thankful the fury from earlier is making a comeback. Hermione has to mentally count to ten, reigning in her temper expertly. If he's throwing around things like divorce, Hermione will enjoy throwing an object at his head. Her voice is ice when she speaks next, and Hermione knows it's the tone of voice that unsettles her husband the most. Calm and icy.

"Ron. If you are suggesting that you, after me miscarrying our child,spending two days and a night alone, divorce me upon first seeing me, then I must warn you on your impending doom."

He sags back against the couch, apparently aghast, and his face contorts to one of horror, " _Divorce you?"_

Not feeling so brave anymore, Hermione falters, "Isn't that what you're saying?"

Ron rubs his hands across his face, almost as if he's exasperated. As if he has a right to be. "Merlin, no, Hermione, of course not…"

Relief sets in then, and she welcomes it like a breeze on a summers day; welcome liberation from this oppressive heat.

She takes a minute to replay their conversation, wondering what on earth he had been talking about. Hermione has been good at reading Ron throughout their relationship, but sometimes, it's hard to follow his train of thoughts. She usually thinks it's because the train sometimes veers off the tracks.

Hermione slowly realises what he's talking about, and somehow, the nausea returns, "You—you want to… Wow… I wasn't expecting this."

He nods, but doesn't offer any more words. Hermione supposes there aren't any. She knows exactly what he's feeling and what he means, there really isn't anything he can add or elaborate on. This is Hermione's third miscarriage.

She remembers the first time, three years previously, when they read her little, white, muggle stick and bounced around their tiny bathroom. She remembers the first wake up call, sitting blankly on the hospital bed, wondering what this kind of hell was.

She had known many hells – she had been attacked by trolls, dementors, werewolves, Death Eaters, _Voldemort –_ but this was a new hell. It was some fresh hell that had redefined all her conceptions of fear, failure and torture. Hermione has endured real torture; she's not sugar coating her words.

Hermione risks a look at Ron, who is patiently waiting. It's not a phrase one would normally associate with Ron. She realises then that this image of Ron – the wreck – isn't so new at all. She's seen it many times before. Hermione doesn't actually remember the last time Ron and her had a genuinely good time. She doesn't remember the last time they went out, or had sex, just to be with each other.

Hermione forgets the giddy feeling. She forgets the surprise fluttering, the little gifts, the secret giggles that only they knew the meaning of. How did not she realise that while she may still have her husband, she was rapidly losing her best friend?

"You're right," She breathes, the words surprising even her.

Ron has the same reaction, narrowing his eyes slightly in confusion, "What?"

She has to laugh at this, and makes a reminder to say those words more often. If only he was right more often. "You're right, this is tearing us apart. Let's take a break from _trying_ for a while. It's only making things worse."

A large grin settles across his face, "That's the best thing you've said all day." He moves to hug her tightly, and she feels him inhale. They sit like that for a while. He whispers in her ear then, the feeling ticklish and pleasant, "I'm sorry."

Hermione nods against him, not bothering to angrily hex him like she wanted to earlier. They pull apart, and his hands fall to hers. He squeezes them, "If it's meant to happen, it will."

Hermione wishes she could believe like he does. Instead, she smiles, and leans forward to kiss him.

* * *

 ** _Four Months Later_**

Family, warmth and contentment is always what comes to Hermione's mind when she's at the burrow. Most of Ron's siblings are good friends of Hermione's, and their children are as precious to her as her own will be.

Well, maybe not quite – James will, but he's an exception.

Molly, though she often grates on Hermione's last nerve, is welcoming no matter what. She is a true mother hen, fretting over all of her chicks, including Hermione, every week when they come for dinner. Sunday brunch or dinner, depending on the Sunday, is something of a ritual in the borrow now. All of the Weasley children try their best to take a breather from their busy lives every week and visit their mothers house.

It usually consists of Bill and Fleur, and their daughter Victoire; Percy and his wife, Audrey; George and his wife, Angelina; Ron and Hermione; Ginny, Harry, James and Teddy. Andromeda and Charlie occasionally make appearances, but they're rare enough. Charlie is the bachelor he ever was, and it seems every time she meets him, he has a different woman on his arm. Hermione doesn't think he'll ever settle down. Then again, he's still young.

They're often among the last to arrive, and it's all down to Ron and his insistence that they never get there early. He doesn't like being able to smell his mother's cooking, and not eat it. Never underestimate Ron and his stomach, Hermione has certainly learned not to. The Burrow is bustling with people when they arrive today at 3pm, and Ron receives a thwack on the shoulder from Molly when she answers the door.

"What time do you call this, Ronald? Hello, Hermione, dear, you're _glowing,"_ She says gently, and Hermione resists the urge to gag. As much as she loves the woman, she's as subtle as a gun. Molly thinks if she drops enough hints about grandchildren, pregnancy and the 'wonderful miracle of life', Ron and Hermione will procreate. Little does she know.

They never made the mistake of telling her again after the first time. Hermione's heartache wasn't lessened when she came to the Burrow the Sunday after her miscarriage, ready to pass on the wretched news, and there was a party in the back garden for them. _Congratulations Hermione and Ron, indeed…_

Instead of how replying how she'd like ("Why, thank you, Molly. It's probably the highlighter – you should try some make-up, it'll clear those wrinkles right up.") she smiles, "Thanks, Molly. Guess it must be the lovely weather."

The older woman beams, almost looking at Hermione as if she was a child, and then proceeds to talk to her like one, "Maybe, dear. Inside now, the two of you, dinner will be in five minutes."

Ron groans, and leans into Hermione, "Why is she giving out then? Dinner isn't even _ready."_ She elbows him subtly, but tries to hide her grin.

The living room is carnage, as usual, as Victoire and Teddy chase each other around the room. They make loud crashing noises while they run, as if playing on some sort of battlefield. Spying the makeshift wands (sticks) in their hands, Hermione sees that they are indeed playing a duelling, battle game. George and Ginny are speaking animatedly, probably about something pranking related. Harry plays on the floor with James, his eyes following the one-year olds every move with amusement. Percy and Audrey are in the corner of the room, keeping to themselves as usual. If Ginny and Molly thought Fleur was bad for an in-law, they were seriously knocked for two when Audrey came along. She's like Percy in all the worst ways, and honestly one of the most stuck up people Hermione has ever met. Arthur looks like making conversation with them is painful.

She spots Bill then, who Ron had immediately moved to talk to. Something about a curse he recently encountered on a case. As he approaches, Fleur says hello and then moves to the kitchen to help Molly. Ron, of course, asks with concern if she needs any help.

Fleur waves him off with a laugh, but the image stays with Hermione. That's what it would be like if _Hermione_ was pregnant. Loving and concerned Ron would put his hand on her arm, and his eyes would meet hers, as if trying to read whether she really would be okay with setting the table. Hermione would laugh him off, complaining with secret delight about how overprotective he is.

An intense sadness hits her then, and she pinches the bridge of her nose in an effort to control it. Something latches onto her leg, and Hermione opens her eyes to find little James hanging on to her. Hermione smiles brightly, unable to help it, and scoops him up into her arms, "Hello, my little man, have you missed me?"

He nods dutifully in response, accompanying it with a toothy grin. Hermione waggles her fingers at him, "I wonder… have you missed me… enough?" She says dramatically, and begins tickling him lightly. Loud, uninhibited laughter erupts from the baby. It warms Hermione heart, and she never thought she could feel this kind of love. She had thought that her and Ron's love is the ultimate love, but it's not – there's a special love shared between a parent and child. Hermione has a _piece_ of that with James.

She stops tickling him, "Okay, I'll stop, but can I have a kiss?" Her godson, her little man, leans forward obediently and plants a slobbery, wet kiss on her mouth. Hermione laughs, but James doesn't wait long before he starts pointing at the toys on the ground.

"Yes," He's saying, and with those big brown eyes, Hermione has no choice but to comply.

Ginny sits down beside her soon after, "You're worse than Harry; can't say no to those big brown eyes."

"Harry can't say no because they're your eyes," Hermione says, winking at her friend. She and Ginny grew apart initially after the war, but once the younger girl graduated, their friendship quickly resumed. They even lived together for a few years. She and Harry were only separated for a short amount of time while she was touring, but they quickly discovered that they'd rather be together and apart than not together at all.

It's all happiness and light-hearted chatter, and then, out of nowhere, Ginny is grasping Hermione's hand. Everyone else has started to move into the dining room, but Ginny's hold on her hand is too much to let go. Hermione looks at her, wondering, and Ginny's gaze is meaningful. She knows what conversation is about to occur. "Are you okay?"

Hermione wants to sigh, but she doesn't want to hurt Ginny's feelings – she's only trying to be a good friend. She settles on nodding, squeezing her friends hand back, and reassuring her, "Better than ever."

They share a small smile and head into the dining room for dinner. Hermione takes her usual spot next to Ron, and gleefully hands James over to his Dad. She loves the boy, but she doesn't want to have to deal with his reluctance to eat vegetables unless she absolutely has to.

Harry sits across from her, with James in between her and Ginny. This leaves James sitting across from Ron, which is a recipe for disaster. Everyone sits in families and couples, and Hermione wonders what it'll be like when George and Percy have children – maybe they'll be able to squeeze Ron and Hermione in at the end of the table.

"This looks amazing, Molly," Harry says, and Hermione wants to roll his eyes – he's always so polite. He's the ultimate son-in-law, and the perfection Molly had always wanted for her daughter. Even though he pays her this compliment _every week,_ Molly still looks fit to burst with pride.

Ron nods, "He's right, Mum. Now, can we please eat already?"

A pregnant Fleur taps on her glass, "I am sorry, Ronald, but may I please have a word first?"

Forced to comply, Ron pauses, his potato laden fork in mid-air, and puts it back down wordlessly. He raises his hand then, as if to say, please continue. Fleur nods, shooting him one of her dazzling smiles, and looks around the table. She is truly the epitome of the perfect pregnant woman. She has none of the negatives, like unwanted sweating, discomfort or a lot of weight… She's _glowing._ Hermione didn't think pregnant women actually glowed until she met Fleur.

The blonde continues, "Thank you. I would like to thank Molly for ze dinner, eet iz tres belle." Oh, yes, did she forget to mention? Fleur now likes to weave French into her conversations. For Victoire, apparently.

"We would just like to tell you all zat we are 'aving a girl!" The entire table bursts into applause, Molly getting up to hug her son tightly.

Arthur raises his glass, "To Bill and Fleur!" Everyone erupts into cheers again, Hermione included. She's happy for them, she truly is. It'll be nice to have another girl in the house, especially for Victoire. James and Teddy will be ganging up on her in no time.

Hermione spots something unusual then. Over James' head, Ginny and Harry are furiously whispering to each other, obviously disagreeing on something. She's shaking her head, not listening, and he's still speaking. Ginny holds her hand up then, as if to silence him, which only angers him further. The scene is quite comical if one takes into account the blissfully oblivious James between them, banging on the table to his own tune.

It's then she notices Ginny's plate. It might seem like something insignificant, but Ginny Weasley _loves_ ham. Her mothers cooking is her favourite, but most of all, the smoked ham. Every week, she bundles it onto her plate and eats it with a savagery that Hermione must think is hereditary in Weasley's. Glancing up the table, Hermione sees that the plate of ham is placed at the far end of the buffet.

There's only one time when Ginny couldn't stand the sight of ham.

"You're pregnant." She whispers. Ginny hears though, and looks at Hermione in surprise.

Her stomach drops, and food is suddenly unappealing. Pushing her plate away, she finds she's not the least bit hungry anymore. Still reeling over her inner revelation, she barely sees when Ginny stands up. Calling the attention of the table, Ginny announces what Hermione had known for the past fifty seconds.

She can't look up from her plate. Not just yet. Tears are blurring her vision, the meal appearing watery and fuzzy in front of her, and Hermione wills them to go away. They can't see her cry. She can't cry.

Ron congratulates them from beside her, sounding chirpy and sincere. Hermione feels his hand on her knee though, and the slight pressure he applies. _Hang in there_.

She coughs, turning into some coughing fit, and then wipes under eyes, as if the force of the cough caused her tears. Hermione stands then, "I'm so happy for you guys."

Her voice is soft, but by the guilt on Harry's face, and the weakening of Ginny's voice, she knows they hear.

Hermione gives herself a firm pep talk then. She is one third of the Golden Trio, she is the brightest witch of her age, a Gryffindor lion. She can keep composed long enough to excuse herself. She can do this. No one will make the connection between the two – no one even knows they were trying but Ginny and Harry.

Resolved, once the commotion dies down, Hermione stands, "I'm so sorry, Molly, you'll have to excuse myself and Ron. I'm not feeling very well. Thank you for the food though, we'll see you next week." She walks around to hug the woman, and kisses her on the cheek.

Hermione pulls up Ron as she walks past, who is in the middle of eating. To his credit, Ron doesn't protest, as would be the norm, and rises complacently. Once they say goodbye to everyone, Ron gets their jackets, and they make their way to the door.

Molly calls out after them, "Oh, be careful, Hermione! We might have a _third_ grandchild pending, hmm?"

She hears the laughter from the table, but her voice is stuck in her throat. Hermione thinks the sob will make it out before a laugh will. Standing at the front door, Ron suddenly pulls her into his embrace. He holds her tightly, but carefully, as if she's a fragile doll. Like he's trying to protect her from everyone, and Hermione just wants to cry.

"Hermione!" She hears someone call out, and hastily, Hermione rubs at her eyes. Then she realises who it is calling her: Ginny.

Logically, she shouldn't feel angry. She should be happy, she should genuinely and truthfully congratulate them. None of those fuzzy, happy feelings are in her heart right now though; there's just a bitter blackness.

Ginny appears resigned to a fight, because Hermione would recognise that look anywhere. The determined Weasley look – it's almost a constipated look, she thinks wryly. So there.

"Look, Hermione, I know this isn't the best timing, but we didn't plan it and _Merlin,_ the last thing we want to do is hurt you. You have to know that, right? Ron, you know that, don't you?" Ginny says, almost pleading, but not apologetic enough.

Hermione massages her temple, not in the mood for this, "I know you didn't plan it, Ginny. How wonderful for you. You get pregnant even when you're _not trying,"_ She says brightly, sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I know this is hard for you. But you're my brother and my friend – you guys mean the world to us and…"

"Come on, Ginny," Ron says, shaking his head, "Just leave it. You haven't done anything wrong."

Reluctantly, Hermione touches her friends arm. Tears still shine in her eyes, and she has to bite her lip to stop the trembling, "He's right. Goodbye, Ginny."

* * *

A/N: Hi, there. If you've stumbled upon this story then, welcome :) Thank you to those reading, and reviewing. There's 3 more chapters left of this story, and I have them finished so updates will be regular. Tomorrow night or saturday day (UK and Irish time) will be the next update.

Thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: Don't own HP or "Strong" by London Grammar.

CN.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Thing With Feathers**

 _Close your eyes so you don't feel them,  
They don't need to see you cry.  
I can't promise I will heal you,  
But if you want to, I will try._

 _"Eternity" - Robbie Williams._

* * *

 ** _Three weeks later._**

Furiously mixing the batter for the sixteenth time, Hermione wonders if she's getting any better at this. She's spent the past ten hours baking, after all, and she can't ascertain whether the first batch of cookies taste any worse than the latest cupcakes. She convinces herself it should be easy – all you have to do is read, study the steps and follow instructions. Hermione has been doing that her whole life, sprinkled with a lot of innovation. Yet, as the smell of burning wafts over to her, Hermione wonders why she's so terrible at it and she scrambles to the oven.

Her intention was to become distracted by the baking, but it only made things worse. It turns out you can think the whole time you bake, and her various racing thoughts never slow down as she performs the instructions from the cook book.

Taking her last concoction from the oven, Hermione sighs mournfully. It's burnt to a crisp. Maybe the problem is that she's _too_ distracted for baking to be a distraction.

It probably doesn't help she has insisted to try it the muggle way. A couple of swishes with a wand and she could have done this in five hours. She's nothing if not hard-working and stubborn though.

Coughing, she waves her hand in front of her, trying to disperse the smoke. Oh, Merlin, she'll never hear the end of this if Ron comes home soon. She resigns to taking out her wand then, begrudgingly using scourgify to clean the dish and get rid of the smoke.

She's a little nervous today because Ginny is stopping over. Harry had apologised to Hermione for the incident at the burrow the next day at work, but Hermione had been ingenious at avoiding Ginny since then. She felt she couldn't handle it. Her and Ron haven't made an appearance at the burrow in three weeks, and she knows that they're starting to become suspicious.

Fleur owled her asking if everything was okay. _Fleur._ Damn pregnant women and their sixth sense, Hermione thinks, annoyed. She hates the littlest stab of pain she feels in thinking that. Wondering if she will ever _be_ one of those pregnant women keeps her up at night.

Nevertheless, she has finally agreed to meet with Ginny. She's due to arrive any minute, and with that realisation, Hermione rushes to the mirror to make sure she looks a little respectable. Save for a dab of flour on her face, and the filth all over her apron, she looks fine.

Hermione dumps the batter she was mixing, finally feeling exhausted and tired with trying. She's so tired of being the best.

She's so tired of failing.

"Hermione," A voice calls out behind her, and Hermione spins around.

She gives her friend a small smile as she removes her apron, "Hi, Ginny. How are you?" Hermione busies herself with walking into the laundry room to put her apron in the washing machine. She comes back into the kitchen, fills the kettle and waits for the woman's response.

"I'm good. Being at home all day is so _boring_ though, I don't know how people do it. Even with James to keep me company, I'm still going spare," Ginny says, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration, "I actually cleaned the house the muggle way the other day." She tells Hermione this with such utter disbelief, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world, that Hermione can't help but laugh.

"Oh, you poor thing." Her tone gives away how unsympathetic she is, but she's clearly joking. "Now you know how hard my life was before the tender age of eleven." Hermione declares dramatically, lifting her chin into the air.

Ginny chuckles, "You're not kidding. How are you, anyway? I haven't seen much of you."

The feeling of guilt hits her abruptly, making Hermione blank on her words, "Um… yeah. I… I know. Do you want some tea?" She reaches up to the press for two mugs, but hears Ginny clear her throat awkwardly.

"Um, no, I won't have any. This kickster is keeping Mummy from a lot of fun stuff." She points both of her index fingers to her stomach, and Hermione's smile is shaky for just a split second before she banishes the feeling.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. I completely forgot! I don't know how," Hermione adds lowly, mumbling to herself.

"There's this massive elephant in the centre of your room and it really is taking up too much space. I'm taking up enough space as it is these days!" Ginny tries to make light of the seriousness of her words. "C'mon, Hermione. You're my best friend. I know I'm not Harry, but you can still talk to me, and I don't like how my baby is putting a strain on us. The baby doesn't deserve it, and neither do I."

The words are harsh, and she flinches in response. This hadn't been what she was expecting. Hermione had expected Ginny to apologise, hug it out, and then move on. She isn't prepared for this and doesn't know how to respond. She fights the urge climbing up her throat to cry.

A minute passes.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Ginny gushes, "That was harsh. It is how I feel though. You're James' godmother, and a fantastic one at that, please don't be like this. I know how hard—"

"No, you don't," Hermione cuts her off coldly, not liking the direction of the conversation, "You don't understand so don't insult me by pretending to. You've _no idea_ how hard this is," She's horrified to find herself a bit breathless, "I can't do the one, simple thing that humans were put on this earth to do. You know what that feels like? No.

"Do you know what it feels like to always be one step behind? I'm a step behind when I get to Hogwarts, because what the hell is a mudblood? I'm a step behind in Harry and Ron's schemes in the first few years – hey, I'm just a stupid girl. I'm a step behind as the wizarding world tells me that I'm _so_ impressive because I'm such a brilliant witch _and_ muggle-born. Hey, imagine that, a talented muggle-born!" She says this sarcastically, emotions building, and her voice sounds like it's barely restraining a sob.

"I'm constantly fighting to best men in the Ministry, to top the pure-bloods that still secretly look at me like I'm something dirty. Now _this._ And all of that stupid stuff doesn't even matter, because I just want to look at my baby, my little being created by me and the person I love most in the world and give them the best future and present and family... People already think I'm the most unmaternal creature to ever grace the earth, and would you look, it turns out mother nature thinks that, too." Chest heaving inexplicably, Hermione sits down, putting her hands over her face.

" _I can't even bake,"_ She wails.

Ginny comes over to sit down next to her friend, and rubs her back, "I'm sorry for being harsh. This isn't like you though, Hermione. You don't pity yourself. This isn't good for you. Where's the Hermione Granger _I_ know? The one who doesn't give a rats arse what people think anymore? The one who's brilliant and beautiful and stubborn? I know you're maternal, and so does everyone who knows you. You'll find a way to make this happen, and it will happen. I know it will, okay?"

She resentfully thinks how Ginny is talking out of her arse, she can't possibly know anything about her reproductive system and shouldn't say such things. Anyone with the art of manipulation knows you never promise definitives, only vague ideas.

Just as the thoughts leave Hermione, her friend speaks again, wincing, "Well, I don't _know_ , I think,"

Hermione lets out a laugh at that, raising her head to look at Ginny. She wipes her eyes roughly, not desiring to have any tears on show today. "Thanks, I actually appreciate that."

They hug and stay like that for a while. Hermione thinks about Ginny's words, about her own words and where they had even come from. She hasn't felt excluded from Harry and Ron since they were kids, and the muggle-born issue rarely bothered her anymore. Her emotions are building and she's pulling everything she's ever felt emotional about to distract her from the matter at hand.

Regardless of how hurt she is, how harrowingly below average she feels, how pitifully empty she is, Hermione has been a right prat to her friend. Knowing there is a lot of truth in the red-heads words, Hermione resigns to apologising. "I'm sorry, Gin. I should have spoken to you sooner but… I had to think, you know? I—I don't know how to process this. I don't know how to flush my feelings down the toilet and be happy about it all. Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted for you and Harry, but I'm so goddamn jealous. I would kill to be in your position – and you don't even know."

"I have some idea," Ginny says, her expression serious as she assesses Hermione. "I'm really sorry it came at such a shitty time for you. But, seriously, you need to talk to me—do you know how many girl friends I have in my life? If I make Harry listen to the Pumpkin Spices again he might divorce me."

"Their songs are _so_ catchy," As if on cue, they both sing, terribly, the line of their most famous song, _"If you wanna dance, baby, dance, take that wand out and dance with me,"_

Hermione supposes they're the equivalent of a girlband in the muggle world, and makes a mental reminder to introduce Ginny to the Spice Girls. Nevertheless, Harry and Ron detest them, but Ginny and Hermione enjoy blasting them, dancing their hearts out, and singing till their throats are hoarse everytime they have a girls night. Sadness washes over her for a brief moment, "We haven't had a girls night in ages."

"How about tomorrow?"

"I can't, sorry. Ron and I are going on our third 'first date' thing." She says this sheepishly, feeling a bit embarrassed about admitting to one half of the glory couple that her and Ron were having troubles.

Ginny raises her eyebrows in surprise, "I didn't know you guys were doing that. What a great idea, I would love to do that with Harry. Back to basics, right? Oh, shagging like rabbits, eating like gods, drinking like the Irish…" She sighs wistfully, looking off into the distance with a drama only Ginny can pull off. "We can't do that anymore with these two wonders. What have you got planned? Ah, it's so exciting!"

Hermione, swept up in Ginny's encouragement, tells her eagerly, "I think we're going to go to that Restaurant in muggle London. You know the one where we said I love you? It was one of his first muggle excursions and he was so nervous… adorable."

"You guys were adorable, I remember helping you get ready for the first date. You'd swear you'd only met him you were so nervous."

Hermione blushes, despite having heard this before, "I know, but I wasn't exactly used to the idea of him fancying me. He had a funny way of showing it."

"Of hating every boy you ever dated?" Ginny asks sceptically, "He had it bad for years." The both giggle at this. "Of course, I'm not one to talk, writing Ginny Potter on my books since I was eleven."

"There has to be some psychological definition for you and Harry."

"Oh, shut up," The redhead laughs, pushing her away. They stay like that till the evening, when Ron comes home after a day out with his brothers, and until way after that, when the sun has set and the embers in their little apartment fire are roaring. They talk until they can't anymore, exhausting every topic known to man, and still only retiring for the night because their eyes are fluttering closed of their own volition.

Hermione pushes the drowsy pregnant woman into the fireplace, "Time for you to go home." She hesitates for a split second, but swiftly makes up her mind and bends down so her head is level with Ginny's stomach. Being only four months along, it's only slightly rounded, but Hermione speaks to it anyway, "Hey, little person. You take care of your Mum for me tonight. I can't wait to meet you."

Ginny, hormonal as ever, pulls her best friend into a tight hug, "I've missed you, Granger." She pulls back and Hermione is both shamefaced and warmed to see tears in her eyes. "Oh, look at me, I'm a mess."

"Compared to me you've the emotional control of Voldemort. Now, get home to that doting husband."

* * *

Even after all these years, Ron still glances around suspiciously when he sits in a muggle restaurant. Hermione is rather amused by this; it's as if he expects something to stand and point, shouting " _wizard!_ " loudly to all the surrounding muggles. She almost wants to reassure him that they haven't burned anyone at the stake in years.

Oh, let him learn on his own.

"Ron, honestly, you need to calm down," She tells him, unable to hide how tickled she is by the whole situation.

He grumbles something, and then says loudly, "Yeah, well, you would be nervous if you were me."

"How many years is it now?" She asks teasingly, leaning forward in her seat. They're on their third 'first date', something Hermione had proposed to get the flame between them going again. It's worked so far, they are enjoying each other's company again, passionately having sex and sharing thoughts like lovers again. Hermione had nearly forgotten how funny he is, and realises that she doesn't want to do that again.

She never wants to lose what makes 'them' into 'us'.

Hermione is drawn from her thoughts by the intensity of Ron's gaze, and when he speaks its devoid of all humour, "It's been eight years. Can you believe it? Eight years, me and you, figuring stuff out. Do we ever actually just know stuff?"

She laughs, "I don't think so. I think you just fumble along, hoping you're making the right choices. It's all about the educated guesses, right?"

"Bloody hell though, eight years."

Hermione quirks an eyebrow, "Are you alright? Not thinking of bailing, are we?" She's joking, but there's a hidden truth to her words, an insecurity she still hasn't been able to shake. Sometimes, and though she has never and will never voice it aloud, Hermione doesn't feel good enough for Ron. She has a feeling he thinks he can do better, and that he fell in love with her so he'll stick with her. Hermione is afraid someday she won't be enough anymore.

Always, she reasons with herself, telling herself to stop being so neurotic and paranoid.

He soothes her thoughts, "Please, who else would I be with? Hermione Granger is the only woman for me. There's no one as stubborn, intelligent, determined, beautiful and kind as you. You're perfect for me."

She doesn't know how he can still make her blush, but she drops her eyes to the table as the heat in her cheeks rises. Hermione sneaks a glance at the tables around them, wondering if there's anyone listening.

Ron surprises her then by picking up her hand and kissing it gently, the action causing a whooshing sensation in her chest. She sucks in her breath when he looks back up at her, those dazzling baby blues as alluring as ever.

He's never this touchy in public. Although Hermione hates public displays of affection, she finds herself giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl, much to Ron's pleasure.

"Stop it you, or I'm going to go home and get up to some other things," Hermione says, leaning back and righting her clothes, albeit, they were pristine already.

Ron winks at her, "Is that a promise?"

She laughs loudly, "I don't know, you'll just have to wait and see." Hermione has always hated these types of conversations. She is so astoundingly bad at playing coy.

After they order, Ron takes her hands again, this time simply holding both of them, staring contemplatively.

"Don't hurt yourself with all that thinking, Weasley."

He grins, "You usually do enough of it for the both of us." They're both quiet for a second after that, Hermione allowing him the time to pick phrasing of whatever he is about to say. Her interest piqued, she watches him carefully as he traces her hands with his thumb. He doesn't look much older than she remembers during the war – they had probably aged five years during the war though. His hair is cut shorter now, more professional, and he's not as clean-shaven. A light stubble on his jaw creates a certain charm that Hermione finds attractive. She loves it and insists he keeps it, but Hermione knows he likes it as much as her.

He thinks he looks older with it. For the most part, he does, but it's about the only thing that makes him look older. His finger runs over her wedding band, lightly stroking the skin around it, and then he looks up at her.

Those eyes. Ron Weasley's eyes will forever be Hermione's weakness. The bright, crystal blue could convince her to do anything.

Well… maybe not _anything._

"Hermione, I know things have been hard the past few years," He starts, his gaze caressing her face, "But I want you to know I love you no matter what. You're the most important person in my life, I would do _anything_ to make you happy… I really would. I know I joke, and I know we fight, but when I'm being completely serious, there's no doubt that I would go to hell and back for you. A spider might be asking a bit much though, y'know?" She chuckles at this, remembering fondly the memory of both her and Ron screaming in the middle of enjoying a shared shower upon spotting a spider in the corner. The spray of the nozzle couldn't reach it as the ceiling was too high, just out of the waters reach. Both had panicked until Hermione, being the more rational of the two, finally got out of the shower and retrieved her wand. He still shudders when she mentions it. He'll still offer to share showers though, of course. It hasn't affected him that badly.

"Anyway, I wanted to make clear that I'm not going to leave you. Even if… even—even if we can't have kids biologically. There are other ways. We can try muggle ways if you want, or adopt, or—or have no kids. I just want to be with you."

She hates how her eyes water as he speaks, and dabs at the corners inconspicuously. Hermione is sure they look like a ridiculous couple. It's everything she has wanted to hear from him and more. How could she have doubted him really? She's lucky to have such a wonderful husband.

"I love you so much, and I want you to be happy. Let's be happy."

They go home pretty soon after dinner. It's safe to say they don't leave their bedroom for some time afterwards.

* * *

A/N: Hi, there. Thank you very much to those who have reviewed, and thank you for reading. More reviews would be wonderful :)

Disclaimer: HP and "Eternity" by Robbie Williams are not mine.

Thanks again,  
CN.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Thing With Feathers**

 _You may never know why  
Once bitten is twice as shy.  
If I'm proud perhaps I should explain,  
I couldn't bear to lose you again._

 _"Leave Right Now" - Will Young._

* * *

 ** _Three Months Later_**

Joy. Comfort. Serenity.

These are all emotions that encircle Hermione as she sits out in the Weasley's back garden, watching the family play a round of Quidditch. Ginny is to her right, cheering animatedly for her husbands team as she does every time unless she's playing. Now into her third trimester, Ginny can't play Quidditch and has to be satisfied with watching instead.

Fleur sits beside her, a beautiful newborn baby girl resting on her chest. There's a lovely woven yellow blanket wrapped around both of them, cuddling them together. Fleur has a wide smile on her face, clearly content with sitting there. Bill is next to her, happy not to play this time.

In the sky, there's Harry, Ron, George, Angelina, Charlie and even Mr. Weasley. With only 3 apiece, it's more a game of quaffles and keepers. Harry, Charlie and Mr. Weasley versus George, Angelina and Ron. Harry had vehemently disagreed with the teams, but with a shove from Ginny, stopped complaining.

Hermione forgot how brilliant Angelina is. She weaves in between all the men, scoring countless goals. Predictably, she and George are not the least bit gracious about it. Add Ron into that mix and it's no wonder Harry is finding it hard not to be a sore loser.

James is on a blanket on the grass in front of them, playing with an assortment of toys. Victoire sits across from him, fascinated with babies and genuinely enjoying playing with them. Teddy is blatantly ignoring her today, claiming she is 'too childish' for his big games. Victoire had been heartbroken by the declaration and announced James as her new best friend.

Teddy doesn't care, he's still gazing at the Quidditch game with longing.

"Why can't I play?" He asks petulantly, tearing grass up from the ground and throwing it to the side with a huff.

Molly, who is sitting to Hermione's left, smiles at him, "Soon, dear. You know you're too young yet to be playing that high up. Ask Victoire if she'll play on the kids brooms with you."

He looks scornfully at the girl in question, "She won't, she already said she won't. She's too childish, I think."

Hermione wants to laugh at him, but doesn't, "Maybe you should ask nicely. You weren't very nice to her earlier, were you?"

Teddy observes her for a minute, and then his eyes wander to Victoire. She's too busy building a tower with James to listen. Her strawberry blonde hair is caught back in a high ponytail, and she's wearing a pink sundress with cherries all over it. She's adorable and sure to break hearts one day. Probably Teddy's, Hermione muses.

He snaps out of it then, shaking his head and muttering about how stupid girls are.

Molly disappears to the kitchen for a moment, and brings back a very large blueberry pie. It's Ginny's favourite dessert, "Ginny dear, I baked your favourite dessert. I know you won't let me plan a shower," she sniffs at this, obviously not happy with Ginny's insistence, "but at least let me make a few things for you when you come over."

Hermione can see the irritation that initially laces Ginny's features, but she instantly covers it up, "How thoughtful, thanks, Mum."

It's warm and looks delicious, but the smell of it drives Hermione insane. Clutching her stomach, she wonders if she'll heave up her breakfast. She hasn't been feeling all that great lately. Fleur hands their baby, named Dominique, to Bill and offers to cut the pie.

She breezes past Hermione, and Hermione discovers she is wearing the most putrid perfume known to man. This, combined with the scent of the pie, sends Hermione over the edge. Jumping from her chair, she runs to the bushes, knowing she won't make it to the toilet.

The contents of her breakfast now spewed all over Molly's plants, Hermione's chest heaves with the after effects. Ginny has run over to her and is now rubbing her back in small circles. Though Hermione is grateful for her help, it makes her feel worse, and she holds up a hand for the woman to stop.

Ginny strokes her hair instead and Hermione apologises, "I'm sorry, you didn't need to run over here. You're pregnant and I'm making you run around…"

She waves her off, "Don't be silly. I'm pregnant, not an invalid." Ginny leads her back over to the others, "Are you okay? Will I call Ron down?"

Biting back a retort that said she could do it herself, Hermine declines. "I'm fine, leave him to his game."

Ginny eyes her, "Have you been unwell lately?" They sit back in their chairs, and Hermione is grateful that Fleur and Bill continue with their conversation and act like nothing happened. Fleur will later ask, with concern, if Hermione is okay and she appreciates the woman's discretion and care.

"A little," she admits reluctantly, "I think I'm just run-down. I've been working hard on a case at work, and my life seems swamped and I never have time to do anything, you know? I'm run-down, that's all."

Molly walks outside then, beaming, and Hermione thinks she's going to vomit all over again. She knows what Molly is thinking. She knows what she's going to rant and rave about for the next hour, and she'll drop hints for the next few weeks. Molly Weasley doesn't really drop hints though – unless dropping hints is like dropping anvils. Subtle as a gun is Molly Weasley.

"Oh, _Hermione,_ you know what this could mean?"

"Mum, drop it," Ginny replies irritably. Hermione is so grateful for her friend she almost reaches over to hug her.

"Ginny, don't be rude. I'm only expressing delight in my daughter-in-law maybe finally blessing us with another grandbaby. Oh, what a beautiful babe it would be! And with plenty of company in Hogwarts, what with Dominique and Ginny's babe being in the same year. Yes, a wonderful revelation altogether."

Tears prick at her eyes, treacherously, and Hermione is mortified. She coughs to try and get rid of it, but the sensation only makes it worse, forcing a few out of her eyelids. Ginny curses, sending her mother a glare, "I'm calling Ron. You don't look well, Hermione."

Feeling wretched, Hermione does call Ron. It's a matter of moments before they're packed up, ready to leave. She loves how understanding he is about it – he hasn't made one complaint or moan about not being able to finish the Quidditch game. A burst of love engulfs her and she impulsively hugs him, "Thank you."

He only nods, and Ginny rushes out to them before they leave, "Hey, wait!" Seven months pregnant and walking as quickly as she can, she looks comical. The sight makes Hermione smile.

Even while seven months pregnant, she's tiny and gorgeous. She's one of the lucky ones that glow when they're pregnant. Pregnancy suits some women.

"Thanks," She breathes, "Phew, did not realise what a long walk that is before. Anyway, all I'm going to say is that while my Mum was an insensitive sap, she is only looking out for you. It's only because she loves you, you know that, right? Right, of course you do. Anyway… I would do a test, if I were you. Just to be sure."

"I think it's a bit too much heartache." Hermione responds sadly, not eager to set herself up for disappointment again. No matter how much she would try and quash the hope out, the moment she peed on a stick, or did the magical incantation, she would hope against all hope that there would be two little pink lines.

"Think about it." The red head responds, hugging the both of them before walking around.

* * *

 ** _Two weeks later._**

"C'mon, Hermione, please. I'm worried about you – either go to the doctor or take this test. I even got the muggle one so you would feel more comfortable." Ron sits on their bed, watching as she puts way clothes from the washing. She could use her wand but Hermione prefers doing some things the muggle way. It appears that Ron has noticed this.

She pretends not to notice when he subtly flicks his wand at some of the clothes, trying to distract her as they float magically into their intended spot. Aurors and their wandless magic tricks, she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

The topic at hand is not one she is enthusiastic about discussing. Hermione continues to feel ill, but taking that test feels like a death sentence. It will be negative and she'll want to lock herself in the bathroom and cry forever. It will be negative and she'll be forced to confront whatever the real illness is – which could be far more sinister.

Ignoring her husband, Hermione begins folding some of the clothes in her closet. Ron reaches over and turns her around, and as if he knows her very weakness, places his hands on her cheeks and looks into her eyes, "Will you please do this for me? If it's negative, we'll go to the doctor tomorrow."

He's pleading with her, his tone not one she's familiar with. Hermione knows he's worried and the least she can do is put him out of that misery, really. Knowing she's fighting a losing battle, Hermione finally nods, and feels confident about her choice when he grins brightly.

"Excellent. I bought two random ones cause… eh… I don't really know. It seemed like the thing to do and no one questioned me."

"Why would they question you?" Hermione asks, eyeing her husband, "Did you use magic around muggles?"

Appearing horrified, "No! I would _never_ …" At Hermione's sceptical, persistent glare, he relents, "Not this time, no."

Satisfied for now with that answer, Hermione files this piece of information away. She must ask him about that later. For now, she takes the two packages and makes her way into the toilet.

* * *

A/N: I'm so grateful for all your reviews, thank you so much. This is intended to align with canon, also.

Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: HP and "Leave Right Now" By Will Young are not mine.

CN.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Thing With Feathers**

 _"For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of,  
Long before I knew,_  
 _Someone warm like you_  
 _Would make my dreams come true._

 _"For Once In My Life" - Stevie Wonder._

* * *

The two white sticks sit on their chest of drawers, elevated as if sacrifices to some other God. Ron and Hermione wait on their bed, staring at it impatiently. From her view, she can't see if it's positive or negative anyway, they would have to stand.

Hands clasped together tightly, neither of them say a word. They've a timer spell set up, ready to alert them when six minutes (instead of five) had past – _just in case,_ Hermione had said sheepishly – and they're the longest six minutes of her life.

Hermione tries to not feel hopeful. She recalls the words of Emily Dickinson against her wishes: _Hope is the thing with feathers – that perches in the sould – and sings the tune without the words – and never stops – at all."_

She identifies with the words. She would like not to; she'd like to side with her logical, methodical Hermione who laughs cruelly at this whole exercise. She can't though. The briefest chance that it could be positive ignites a renewed sense of _possibly, maybe…_

She needs to stop going through this. Hermione swears that after this, they'll start using protection and stop there being a chance at all because she can't keep doing this. She needs a break from the heartbreak and disappointment.

The timer rings intrusively through her train of thought.

Ron squeezes her hand, glancing at her, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," She repeats back the old cliché. Standing together, Hermione reluctantly peaks at the tests.

Negative.

Okay, she can deal with this. Sliding her eyes over the second test: positive.

"We have to do the charm," The words tumble out of her mouth rapidly, and she throws Ron's wand at him. He fumbles with it, barely catching the wand.

Having done it so many times before, Ron takes a deep breath and prepares himself. He halts mid-swish, "You know, no matter what this says, I love you and nothing will change."

She smiles and nods, "I know, and I love you, too."

"Good. Good." He begins the incantation then, waving the wand expertly to the exact movements required of the charm.

Hermione closes her eyes, unable to look, when Ron grabs hold of her, "Hermione," She shakes her, an overjoyed look on his face, "You're pregnant!"

"What?"

"You're pregnant! Sixteen weeks along – Merlin, Hermione, you're in the second trimester already."

He picks her up, twirling in a fashion only seen in movies, and Hermione laughs uproariously at this. They laugh, ecstatic and euphoric all at once, unable to speak but unable to be quiet. They alternate between hugging tightly to kissing intensely, and Hermione there's a smile on both their faces they can't wipe off.

Hermione is brought back down to earth when bitch Hermione reigns again in her brain: _Don't get too carried away._

She decides to neglect that thought for now and get swept up in the moment. For now, she will let herself have this.

* * *

 ** _One month later._**

The past month has been one of the most difficult in Hermione's life. She's been violently ill, uncontrollably emotional, inexplicably in pain (her back) and ecstatically happy. Trying to keep that joy at bay has been a struggle – every dinner at the burrow, every lunch with Ginny, every catch-up with Harry, every visit to her parents, the news had been bursting out of her.

 _You can't get ahead of yourself._ Hermione reiterated. Despite her healer insisting she could finally tell family once she had past twelve weeks, Hermione had wanted to wait until she was well into the fifth month.

She's definitely showing, and hasn't been able to see her friends in the last few weeks. She wears baggy clothes to work, rather unprofessional, but after today she'll be able to flaunt her pregnancy. Hermione is thoroughly excited with the prospect of wearing clothes that show her delightful, little bump and just how blissful she is with the news.

Ron is almost as bad as Hermione, and hasn't been able to spend more than a few minutes alone with any of their family since they found out. Hermione has even had to kick him in the shin a few times to keep him from blabbing. The Weasley family have never been great with secrets.

He smiles encouragingly at her, offering his arm to apparate. She's not supposed to do it often anymore, and once into her seventh month must stop completely. Hermione can't imagine flooing is all that safe either at that point.

Once Hermione arrives at the burrow, there are plenty of greetings and polite exchanges. Hermione deliberately keeps her distance from everyone as they approach, hoping no one will attempt a hug. The worst culprit for that is the one Hermione especially doesn't want to hug: Molly Weasley.

Hermione is going to savour the moment she and Ron get to stand at the table and say " _We're pregnant!"_ and everyone will toast to them, celebrate and congratulate. The topic will be discussed throughout the evening until even Hermione is bored of it.

She touches her stomach absently, smiling softly. Hermione swears it's a boy, but Ron insists it's a girl. They've even got a bet going, the details of which Hermione won't discuss with anyone without blushing horrendously.

"Oh, Hermione, you're late," Molly reprimands, ushering her into the kitchen. That had been extremely purposeful – if they're late, Molly is less likely to hug.

Taking their usual seats along the Weasley table, Ron squeezes Hermione's hand in support. They decide to let the dinner go uninterrupted and to catch up on everyone else's news first.

Hermione busies herself by chatting with Ginny, who is due to give birth any day now. She constantly strokes her stomach, a habit Hermione had also quickly fallen into, and gazes at it adoringly when she thinks no one is looking. She feels a bit guilty about not telling her best friends first – they deserved to know first. The surprise, however, was much too tempting.

"I know I look great pregnant, but I can't wait to squeeze this little guy out," Ginny says lightly, earning a glare from her mother.

"Ginevra, that's not very polite."

Ginny shrugs, leaning over to help James with his food, "I'm not overly concerned with manners right now. On that note, I think I have to pee again."

James claps gleefully at this word, repeating "pee pee" over and over again. This delights Victoire and Teddy to no end – who are apparently friends again – and they laugh hysterically at it. Feeling encouraged, they both try and get James to say a variety of other similar words, like 'poo' and 'fart'. A few of the adults at the table sit unamused, but Hermione can't help but think of when Dominique, Potter Junior Junior and her little sprog will be seated at the table causing hijinks.

Fleur and Bill chide Victoire for her behaviour, "Sorry, everyone," Bill says awkwardly, "Kids." As if that word can explain it all.

Ginny returns from the table, and Hermione seizes her opportunity. Nudging Ron, who has been assorting his peas into letters, she nods to him. Ron clears his throat, "Eh, speaking of kids, me and Hermione… well, the oven… and the buns and – birds and the bees. You know?"

Hermione sighs, wanting to put her head in her hands. Not quite how she imagined it. Before she can correct Ron's rambling, Ginny Weasley-Potter gasps, "Are you _pregnant?"_ She points accusingly at Hermione's stomach.

Grinning widely, Hermione takes off her cardigan and there in plain view for everyone to see is her treasured bump. There's commotion at the table then, with Ginny immediately rushing around the table (as fast as a nine months pregnant woman can rush) to hug her tightly.

"Oh, I knew it, I knew it, I _knew it,"_ She chants in her ear. Leaning back, she asks Harry who has just finished hugging Ron, "Didn't I know it, Harry?"

He tilts his head to the side, "You didn't _know_ it… you said she must be sick."

Ginny huffs, placing her hands on her bump, "Come on, I'm nine months pregnant."

Swiftly, he nods, "She knew it."

The four of them laugh, and while Ginny congratulates her brother, Hermione's brother (or as close as she has to it) comes to find her. "Hey, you," He says, placing his hands on her arms, " _I knew_ you could do it."

"Yayy procreating," Hermione says dryly, raising her first in the air sarcastically.

"Seriously," Harry says, "I'm so happy for you two. You deserve it. And think of all the trouble our kids can get into together! They'll be best friends obviously."

"Obviously. They'll be exactly like us." They laugh at this, both hoping it's not true, and he brings her in for a hug.

Hermione holds him fiercely, ever grateful for his presence. She had never gotten her parents back fully after the war, and anyone Harry had for family perished during the war. For a long time, Harry and Hermione were each other's family. Sure, the Weasley's were family, but they were also _in-laws._ There's a rather significant difference.

She hopes their children will be like them in that they'll protect each other fiercely, stand by each other through thick and think, tell each other home truths and confide their deepest concerns to each other.

Ron nudges her and points to his plate, where he has formed _'sorry, luv u_ ' in peas for her to read. There's barely enough room on the plate for it, and she wants to praise his creativity in shortening the word.

She settles on smiling at her husband, exciting for the new adventure she has ahead with him. It's different to the adventures they've had before – there's no guts, no dark spells, no trolls or three-headed dogs – but somehow, she thinks it'll be just as challenging.

There's no one she would rather do this with.

She nods to Ron, who understands (for once) what she means and calls the attention of Harry and Ginny, "Guys, we really would like you two to be godparents. Harry, if we have a girl, we'd like to name her Rose… to honour your family's tradition of girls being named after flowers. Rose, specifically. If you don't mind."

For a second, Hermione thinks their best friend will cry, but he crushes them in a hug instead, "Of course I don't mind, you prats, I would be honoured."

There are tears all around the burrow then, and they spend the rest of the evening discussing names, the future Marauders and stories, what houses they'll get sorted into, and who they'll look like. They also reminisce though – who's passed away, the hilarious misadventures of the trio, the comical dating blunders of one Ginny Weasley and the endless pranks by Fred and George prior to the war.

Hermione is surrounded by loved ones, and touching her stomach lightly, she can't be happier that her son or daughter will have this overwhelming love their whole life.

"Oh, Hermione, I had been worried you'd never want to procreate!" Molly exclaims.

"Shut _up,_ Mum."

Ah, the burrow.

* * *

A/N: So that's all for now. I hope you're satisfied with the ending. I know it's rather quickly that she falls pregnant, but bear in mind they've been trying a while. Also it sticks to canon, so once you find out James is over 1 and Ginny is pregnant, it can't be long before Rose comes along. Wooo.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP or "For Once in my Life" by Stevie Wonder.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and readers, I really, really appreciate it. It's been wonderful writing Hermione and Ron.

I also know that Ron's side is neglected in this fic, but that's only because it comes from Hermione's perspective - and, hey, grief can be selfish.

Thanks again,

CN. AKA, Rae. xo


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